For some reason, lately, I've been thinking about my first time to visit what is now my home up here in Central New York. I was remembering watching everything so intensely, realizing that life up here is proof that Southerners don't have a corner on the weirdness market, but that wherever I go, as long as there are people around, there will be stories to be told. And sermons to be preached. And here's the first one I remember telling when I got back to Kingsport, Tennessee.
I was staying in Hamilton with the Catos. I hadn't seen them in months, so of course we were all excited. But mostly I was there to see the dogs. Now when I first got to their house, we were really quiet, trying to surprise the dogs who were kenneled upstairs.
But Cotton is a super dog with super senses, and we could hear him squealing, making this sound that Brooks says he only makes when I show up after a long time away.
He went upstairs and let the dogs out, and Cotton tumbled down the stairs in his rush to find me. And when he did, he squeaked and starting doing this spinning in the air kind of thing that you have to see to believe.
After the licking was done, he was thirsty and headed off to the kitchen for a drink, but he kept looking over his shoulder to convince himself that I was real, that I was seriously there.
Well, he wasn't completely used to the layout of the house at the time, so, while looking back at me, he walked head first into a wall. You could see the sheepishness in his eyes, like they were saying, “I meant to do that.”
It was hilarious. And it was funny the next time he did it. And the next time. He was just so sure I would disappear. But there came a time, several hours later, once we'd sat around and loved on each other, and he realized that I could walk out of the room and actually come back, that he was willing to stop looking over his shoulder.
He finally understood that I was seriously, really going to hang around for awhile. And he could go back to doing his thing, playing with Lola, barking at cats, his normal daily routine. He was back to being a good dog.
But I'll always have that little snapshot in my head of Cotton walking into the wall. It's sort of a parable, I think.
Parables have often been called “earthly stories with heavenly meanings.” I guess that's true when Jesus is telling them. But really the word “parable” means “cast along side,” as in cast along side the truth. Illustrating it.
So it is with this parable that Jesus is telling us today. A snapshot of two men praying. One looking up to heaven, praying, “God, thank you that I am so wonderful! I'm very proud of what I've become!”
And another man, looking down, muttering, “I'm an awful sinner. I am so, so sorry for what I've done in my life.” The only other thing we know about them is that the first man was a Pharisee and the second was a tax collector.
The first man was expected to be a good, Jewish man, living the Torah as best as he could. He was supposed to be a pillar of society – society expected him to be a pillar. So it's no wonder that he's not a thief, a rogue, or adulterer.
He SHOULD be proud that he is able to live a righteous life when life under the Roman Empire offered so little righteousness.
And the second man SHOULD be sorry. He's working for the man, taking from the people. But more than that, he's taking more...that's how he makes his money...extortion, skimming off the top, so that he can make a living.
He lives by draining the spirit from his neighbors. He is the rogue and thief that the Pharisee is talking about. It's no wonder that he goes off to hide by himself and won't look up, afraid that he might be recognized
And Jesus uses this scene to tell us that prayer and reward do not necessarily go hand in hand. But then Jesus does this weird thing with this parable. Did you notice it when you heard it? This weird little thing that has taken me years to notice.
He doesn't just leave these two men in the temple and end the parable there, where the point is made. He gives them another life. He sends them home. The two men go home.
And I think this is the beautiful part of what seems to be a fairly straightforward parable.
Because if we leave the Pharisee staring up in the sky, and the tax collector staring down at the ground, they will never be able to get on with their lives. You can't move forward when you aren't looking forward.
Just like Cotton did, you'll walk right smack dab into a wall.
Cotton eventually learned to trust that I would be there. And the point, I think, of this parable is NOT that there right kinds of prayers and wrong kinds of prayers, that being proud is always wrong and being miserably humble is always right.
That's not the point at all. The point is trust. The point is what do you do now that you've offered your prayer?
The point is that, once you've entered into that prayerful relationship with God, you move out of that frozen position of those two men in the parable, and you go home, changed.
I like to think that as the Pharisee goes home, he sees those needy people around him, and those visions settle in the back of his mind, itching his soul until he begins to pray for guidance as to how he can put his Torah observance into action, helping the widows, the orphans, those less privileged.
And I like to think the tax collector goes home, realizing that he has been forgiven, and if he can be forgiven, anyone can. And he changes his life, taking what he's skimmed and giving back to the community.
Both men, getting to the same place from different directions, coming unstuck from the parable, and moving forward, clear eyed, and truly joyful. Because they have learned to trust that God is at work in their prayers and in their lives
Today, we are about to baptize a beautiful baby girl. And her eyes are bright and eager and ready to confront the world. And we will, all of us, take vows to teach her to pray and believe and to put that faith to work, loving God and loving her neighbor.
It's our job to teach her to give thanks for all the good things in her life and to recognize her mistakes. And it's our job to teach her that in all things, she can lean into her faith in Jesus to get there through. It's our job to make sure that she is always looking forward toward him, and not backward.
It's our job to teach her trust. And that trust in God is what causes us to stop being frozen in the stories of our own lives.
So, let's rejoice together. As people of God, building the kingdom of God, bit by bit. Stumbling, sometimes walking into a wall when we get distracted, but trusting in God, that God will give us new life, that we will go home into the world, looking forward, forever changed.
Amen.